


In this Darkness

by flight815kitsune



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Stiles, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:38:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flight815kitsune/pseuds/flight815kitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles?" The word is a puzzled whisper in the dark. Fangs recede, features become undeniably more human. A force of habit to return to something stern but unthreatening in the face of a normal human, a kid, a packmate.</p>
<p>The younger man turns, eyes dark, a twisted smile pulling his face into something that looks more mask than expression. Something was very, very wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In this Darkness

Derek wakes up in his bed, instantly up. Footsteps in his loft meant danger, he had to ruin whoever had dared to enter his territory. He moves through the familiar shadows. Canines grow. Nails made sharp. He would tear their throat out. A calm, steady heartbeat made a good target. He could practically feel the blood gush into his mouth as he draws closer to the intruder.

The scent hits him before his claws can rend flesh and his teeth can mar skin.

"Stiles?" The word is a puzzled whisper in the dark. Fangs recede, features become undeniably more human. A force of habit to return to something stern but unthreatening in the face of a normal human, a kid, a packmate.

The younger man turns, eyes dark, a twisted smile pulling his face into something that looks more mask than expression. Something was very, very _wrong_.

The aluminum bat didn't register until it connected to the side of his head. A bloom of pain in his jaw- probably broken- He's falling. Dull ping of the metal hitting his skull and forcing him to remain down.

The bat spins in his hands, a move more suited to a lacrosse stick than the sleek aluminium, before being swung from the opposite side.

It was all he could do to try and look away. Blood dribbles out the side of his mouth. A few loose teeth. Maybe a broken jaw.  It would heal fast enough. Claws dig into the floor. He dodges a swing that wouldn’t have hit in the first place- just a diversion, and a damn good one- as a well-placed kick forces the air from his lungs. The bat makes a hollow thwung and rolls over the hardwood.

He fights to overcome the daze as his arms are wrenched behind his back. The cold cutting steel of cuffs was at once familiar and jarring. He should be able to break free. It’d hurt like hell, but it was nothing he hadn’t done before.

Stiles’ knee in the small of his back carrying the entirety of the younger man’s weight behind it. A hand on the back of his neck forcing him still further down.

The impulse to throw Stiles off is silenced by the cool press of a gun to his temple.

There were limits to what the supernatural could fix.

The weight on him made it hard enough to breathe without the barrel pressing into his skin. “Stiles?”

The answering low chuckle was a confirmation of how far that guess was from the truth.

 

Right. So a member of his pack was possessed.

He couldn’t throw him off. Even if he didn’t lose half of his own head doing it, the gun could still go off and Stiles was only human.

He centers himself with a patient exhale. “This isnt you”

There was a questioning “Hmm?”

If he could  just keep talking, wait it out, maybe this could end without violence. Maybe Stiles could fight it.

“You’re smarter than this. If you killed someone, you’d do it in a way that you could cover your tracks. Your dad’s the sheriff, you know how hard this’d be to cover up.”

There’s a snort of laughter.

Oh. It wasn’t intending on covering this up. “I guess I should be flattered that you think me dying would change things around here. I’m not as important as you think I am.” He’d shrug if he weren’t pinned to the floor with a barrel against his head. “That being your dad’s gun makes it more complicated, but i doubt Scott wouldn’t help you get away with it. You mean a lot to him and he’s usually an optimist. Since he’s in charge, the pack should help you. Peter shouldn’t hold a grudge for this, but someone would need to talk to Cora. Jackson would be great, but who knows if you’ll be able to get ahold of him. The Argents might be-”

“Sorry. Can’t chat.” The voice is wrong. He couldn’t pick out what exactly made it that way. The volume, tone, the way the words passed those lips were all exactly the same as they were on any other occasion. It _almos_ t sounded like Stiles, but it _wasn’t_. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

The click of an empty barrel makes him jolt.

A shaky exhale, the gun dropping, a scramble of limbs, a guttural scream.

He could breathe. A moment of focus was all it took to break the cuffs. The metal tore his wrists, but it was a small price to pay for freedom.

The screaming doesn’t stop.

He pushes himself up from the floor. Stiles is curled up against the wall. With his knees drawn up to his chest, he seems so small. He rocks, tearing at his hair.

“Stiles?”

The power coming off of him is unstable, wild, and dark. It’s a string of firecrackers going off, a pot boiling over, leaves torn from a tree by a gust of wind mid-autumn. Stiles’ breathing is hard, fast, ragged. Derek draws closer, ready to run or fight while trying not to look like the predator he was.

“Stiles.” It isn’t a question this time. Derek reaches out to touch Stiles’ knee. At the contact, he flinches further against the wall. Derek lets his outstretched hand drop. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were a constant rhythm between gasping breaths.

“You don’t need to be sorry.” Derek sits where he was, not leaving or getting too close.

Slowly but surely, Stiles’ breathing slows down. “I think I’m going to kill someone.”

“You won’t. We’ll figure this out.”

"You don't know that, there's no way that you can know that!"

"Trust me. We'll figure this out."

**Author's Note:**

> I know. I'm a bad person who never updates things that need updated.


End file.
